


Home Is Anywhere But Here

by maybemoriarty



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, also abusive mom kind of, this was supposed to be an american gods au can you believe, which is important for their first incounter, youngjae is angsty af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 13:42:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybemoriarty/pseuds/maybemoriarty
Summary: Youngjae is a korean immigrant in america. He lives in a sad, conservative suburb until he gets a scholarship at the university in New Orleans where he meets two guys who share the same background as him and help him cope with his anxieties.He also meets a god and falls in love with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is probably discontinued. I hope that doesn't discourage you from reading it but it's been a hot while since I wrote this (maybe 2 years?) but it's the only work I've ever been proud of so fuck it, I'm posting it anyway.  
To explain; This was suppposed to be an American Gods AU, which is the reason for the whole immigrant background and religious undertones. But I didn't really get that far. Maybe I'll try slapping an end to this altough I haven't *consumed any B.A.P content for ages.  
I hope you enjoy this anyway.
> 
> As with every piece I've ever written, I did too much research on this but oh well. Deahyun is supposed to be Jowangshin, the godess of the kitchen in korean shamanism. She is one of three house patrons and I choose her because she emits warmth in every home and I thought that'd fit right into YJ and DJ relationship. Also I wanted to pick a diety who wasn't super powerful or whatever but only known and worshipped by very few people who still rember them (which is also a theme in American Gods).

Chapter One

Youngjae had been living in America for about ten years now. His Korean was, thanks to his mom still fluent although he did not remember any of the traditions his grandmother had held on to so desperately nor did he repetitively mumble the old prayers that had once filled the house. Back in Jeoeum – ri, a scarcely populated area between the everlasting green hills of Mungyeong – ai in which Youngjae had spent the biggest part of his odd childhood, she and a bunch of gods and ghosts and ancient kings would be upset about that but not here. Not in America, the country of the free, home of the brave where suburban moms at Walmart will yell at you for speaking another language on the phone, where you can freely buy guns and shoot people (this obviously didn't apply to him since he wasn't white) and one of the only industrial states that doesn't have free healthcare. Now, of course Youngjae hadn't realized or cared about these things when he was thirteen and, after seventeen hours, got out of the first plane he had ever been on. He imminently started crying, his legs were wobbly and he couldn't see his mother or brother anywhere which was highly unsettling for a child. To put it in a nutshell, America was scary and strange and Youngjae wanted back to his grandmother and listen to all the peculiar stories she told between the quite of the trees and flowers of her garden. But he did not get to do that.

Instead, the Yoo Family moved to a town with a name more romantic and inviting than any of its 230 citizens could ever be; Silver Creek, MS. It was a miserable little town, it got way too hot in the summer, it had no grocery store but four churches and a branch of the Georgia Pacific Corporation (when the wind was just right, you could smell the sting of chemicals) right around the corner where his mother was in a managing position of some sorts. While he still visited the rancid middle school right next to the “Church of Christ” and the “Monticello First Baptist Church”, his brother went all the way up to Michigan where he studied engineering. Youngjae didn't know what kind of engineering it was and he didn't care because he left him and his mother on their own in a racist jerkwater that nobody gave a shit about. He wanted to become a big musician or a doctor or maybe a physician but now all he got was four fucking churches and a bunch of old people who were still stuck in the civil war. 

Half a year later, when he turned fourteen he got beat up by two boys from the neighbourhood, both older than him. He was already curled up in a pit with his lip split when they looked at him with such hatred in their innocent children eyes, and nine years later he could still recall the exact words like an echo that comes back again and again and sounds a little altered every time; “My dad says you should go back where you came from if you don't want to speak English”.   
Kids could be cruel but what made them truly hateful were adults. To be fair though, Youngjae was very good at speaking English, it was a simple language but he lacked the desire of actually talking to anyone. His sports coach in middle school once asked him if his tongue had been cut out in China. He refused to answer.

When he turned fifteen he came out to his mother as gay. His beautiful mother, who was always there for him, graceful and hard-working, distant because she was never home but o so caring when she was. Her slender figure sat slouched over on the kitchen table that evening. He tiptoed towards her when he noticed the empty bottle of wine. She wasn't an alcoholic, not at all, but sometimes she had to fill the void the loving hugs of her husband and the occasional coffee and dinner with her oldest son had left with something else. He helped her to the bedroom, tucked her into a blanket.   
“I'm sorry, honey, you wanted to tell me something?” her face had gone soft, weak almost. She looked tired.   
“Yes, uh, I think I like boys, as in, I think I might be gay.” his lip was quivering and his heart was beating up his throat when he saw her brows furrow, her whole body stiffen. The back of her hand met his cheek.  
“Pathetic. Never speak such nonsense again, son.”  
Youngjae felt the burning sensation of bile and tears and just nodded. She was drunk, she wouldn't remember tomorrow. It's okay.

When he turned sixteen he got high on his own and wrote “God is Queer” on one of the many statues of Jesus on the cross with hot pink lipstick. It gave him great satisfaction to see the utter shock on the faces of all the white civil war veterans as they went to attend their morning prayers.   
At seventeen he packed up everything important to him and took a cab to New Orleans, a three hour drive down the highway. He took the scholar ship he had been offered to major in Neuroscience and minor in Music Composition and Paralegal Studies. Youngjae was very smart you see but he wasn't just gifted with an high IQ, he was also very good at everything because he never had the pleasant privilege of, well, having friends. All he did was study and play video games which acted to his advance in going to Tulane University. 

And thus the seemingly endless days in the small town he despised so much, the small town that never changed, the small town in which nobody ever died and nobody was born, where every summer afternoon stretched into the infinite depths of the fourth dimension like chewing gum defying all laws of physics, ended. The omnipresent, glooming shadow of his mother left the tiny space in the corner of his eye. Relieve flooded his lungs when he put down his bags on the grey, worn out carpet floor in his dorm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Youngjae is setteling in at Uni where he meets his room mate and they have some excellent deeptalk.

Chapter Two

Youngjae had only prayed once in his life. Not to the old gods, who watched over his grandmother, not to the ones who are worshipped at the four churches in Silver Creek, maybe not even any of the known gods but some kind of celestial more powerful than nature itself. It was when he heard about a blaze near one of Michigans Universitys. He may as well have wished upon a toast strudel that had Jesus' face on it, that's how vague it was but he had no other choice because when his brother disappeared, he hadn't left an address or a phone number, merely a letter that read as following;

“Youngjae, you will be just fine. You're smart. Smarter than me or mother. I believe in you and I am very sorry for leaving. Please do not think of me as you thought of our father.   
We will meet again, I promise.

Love you always, Seongjin”

This letter, along with three photos, one Polaroid and a small bracelet-like cord with red, green, blue, yellow and white beads on it were to be found in a neon plastic bag, next to the books that had been hurriedly thrown into Youngjae's suitcase. The photos showed a young boy grinning a tooth-gapped smile at an infant that he held tightly in his arms, a couple at their wedding day, sepia colours, both filled with melancholy and a stunning woman in her early thirties, comforting a crying child at an airport. In the Polaroid was a woman, similar to the one on the photographs, in frugal clothing, standing proudly next to a house shrine. It was her who made the plain looking bracelet for Youngjae when he was barley old enough to stumble his way trough her herbs and vegetables. He had been so close to his family and now he had done the same as his father and brother. He left. The relieve that still lingered inside his chest turned into heavy guilt, weighing him down. While he was still contemplating life and seriously considering going back home imminently but he forgot about that idea right away when the door opened.

“Yes, I promise I'll be there for the show, but I have an exam the next day so no excessive after partying and no 'Just one more drink, babe'. Yeah, whatever, I love you too- please, Channie, we've been dating for two years, why do I have to assure you this every time you call- yes. Okay, yes, I need to hang up, the new guy is looking at me funny. Okay, bye, love you.”   
Youngjae was indeed looking very funny even though he wasn't aware of it until what he concluded was his room mate reported it to his probably-boyfriend. He squinted at him, reached out a small, slender hand and smiled a very adorable smile, flashing bunny teeth and somehow emphasizing the tiny mole at the side of his pretty nose and hell, he was just all over beautiful.   
“Hi,” he said, tilting his head a bit to the right like a confused puppy would. He actually had a lot of resemblance with a confused puppy.   
“I'm Jongup, I live in this this dorm and seeing your bags I suppose we will be room mates.” Youngjae took his warm hand and smiled back, trying hard not to instantly fall in love with Jongup. “I'm Youngjae.” Jongup snorted, “Would you look at that, another Korean. Is it just me or do we instantly flock together as soon as we're surrounded by white people?” Youngjae looked at him funnily again but decided hesitantly, to laugh. “You're not wrong, I guess.” - “Absurdly, I'm not, no. I have been living in America almost all my life and I end up having a Korean boyfriend.” They started at each other for a few seconds before Youngjae panicked and blurted out: “I'm gay, also.” without thinking.   
This very bold statement was followed by a little more staring and awkward quietness before both of them started laughing and Jongup's laugh, against all odds, was just as bewitching as everything else about him. And Youngjae found himself enjoying his presence and suddenly he felt the urge to babble away and tell him everything, literally every single thing that ever happened to him because he spent four years in silence, his only companions one of his childhood friends in Korea that he e-mailed to occasionally and his grandmother whom he called twice a month. And now he found himself in a dorm, next to a blue haired human puppy and he just told him what took almost one year to tell his own mother after one minute of knowing him. And now he didn't wish to ever stop talking again.   
“We should start a club, something like 'Gay Asians United'.”, Jongup said, shaking his head as if disappointed in humanity itself and Youngjae tried to suppress a goofy smile, “What classes are you in anyway?” Jongup sat down on the bed opposite of his and looked at him expectantly. “Neuroscience, Paralegal Studies and Composition.” He helpfully added: “I play the piano.” Jongup's face lit up, “My boyfriend plays piano! Also, he's the second violin in the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra,” he looked like a mom that had been told her child was elected president of the United States while saying this and Youngjae was toughly impressed and maybe a little bit jealous, “he also plays a bunch of traditional Korean instruments, drums and guitar and he is an amazing cook, as in, if you have ever thought anything tasted good, you haven't tried his food, I swear to god.” he sighed and looked as if he was about to combust with adoration.   
Yeah, Youngjae was definitely jealous. Jongup flashed an apologetic smile, “I'm sorry, I tend to ramble a lot about him.” - “He sounds amazing to be honest. Also, second violin in the LPO? That's fucking awesome. I hope you introduce me and -” - “Himchan.” - “Me and Himchan sometime!” Jongup's smile grew brighter and he nodded, “You bet.”  
And as the sun set, the room was illuminated by the light-hearted conversation of two strangers about to become friends. Jongup helped Youngjae finding comfort in the new room, showed him the neatly organized community kitchen and the slightly less organized community bathroom. He even volunteered to share his showering kit and bedsheets since all that Youngjae had packed were clothes and books and some of his favourite CD's which he now found to be very inconsiderate.   
At one point, probably around three in the morning, they came around to talk about religion. 

“Do you believe in god? Or anything like that?” Youngjae was curled up in his bed, the intention to sleep long forgotten.  
“Man, I believe in a lot of things. I believe in aliens and feminism and I believe that evolution made a huge mistake to give humans the highest consciousness and the ability to reflect on themselves and that the moon landing wasn't real and I believe that the apocalypse will be caused by intolerance and hatred and that art is able to change the world and I believe there a certain places in this world where magic exists and old forest spirits and where the souls of the innocent and the forgotten roam in search of redemption but no, I don't believe there is a god.”  
Silence.   
“I guess.”, he added. Jongup let out a deep sigh and the chuckled, “I really like you, Youngjae.” - “Thanks. Nobody ever told me that.”   
He hadn't blinked in a while and his eyes started burning from staring holes into the darkness for too long. “I'm sorry to hear that.” -”It's fine. You know, I also believe Himchan is very lucky to have such a beautiful boyfriend.” - “Are you hitting on me?” He didn't sound bothered at all, just genuinely curious.   
“No offense but no, I just think you look like a hybrid between a puppy and an actual angel and your whole aura or whatever is very comforting.”   
That did sound a lot more like him trying to hit on Jongup that he intended. But instead of mocking him or pushing it further, Jongup laughed and said, “To be honest, Himchan is very creative when it's about complimenting me but in our two years together I have never heard anything as sweet as angel-puppy. Seriously, thank you, your future boyfriend will be in good hands.” Youngjae was remarkably pink at this point because nobody ever complimented him.   
“I'm going to sleep now, I have class at eight tomorrow and I can't nap during a lecture again because they'll kick me out and I suggest you do the same because Neuroscience sounds like something that requires a lot of focusing and taking notes.”, Jongup closed the conversation, “I'm very glad we're room mates, Youngjae”   
The addressed smiled, “Me too.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are artistés.... and they play some funky tunes together. Also goofing around because they're dorks.

Chapter 3

“So can anyone tell me how you can outflank a contractual agreement to review financial documents of a privileged firm?” his Professor asked into the class.  
Youngjae could certainty not. He was too busy trying to stay awake.   
“You, red shirt, middle row.” she was staring at him. “Huh? I- I'm sorry, no, I'm not sure, I think.” His professor scoffed but let him off and asked the girl next to him. She knew. How could she know something so weirdly specific. She turned to him, the beads in her long braids clacking softly at the sudden motion.   
“Are you okay? You look pale.” Her voice was sweet and raspy simultaneously and filled with concern. “Yeah, I'm okay, didn't sleep well. Thanks for asking though.” She smiled and it was one of these smiles that reminded you of blooming flowers in spring and honey and soft jazz on vinyl. Youngjae decided that everyone at this university was very beautiful. 

Jongup picked him up for lunch at five and looked as concerned as the girl from earlier had sounded, “You don't look well, have you eaten anything yet?” - “Just had a weird dream.” Jongup didn't seem convinced but let it pass. “Listen, I promised a friend of mine to buy her coffee for lending me her stuff all the time, would you be okay with her coming with us?” Youngjae yawned and nodded drowsily, “Sure, as long as there'll be chairs.”   
Jongup's friend was standing in front of the dorms, long braids in a loose bun atop of her head and dark freckles clearly visible in the sunlight. She wore one of those artsy jeans overalls and a bright orange sweater. “Ruby, this is Youngjae, Youngjae, my beautiful art friend Ruby.” She grinned after recognizing Youngjae, “Yes, we are familiar, I believe.” Jongup looked at them, squinting. “We're in the same class. Paralegal Studies.” he clarified. “Ah, right! Well then, let's go, no further time wasting, I'm starving.” - “You still down to buy me that fancy caramel latte?” - “Shouldn't Youngjae pay for us? In an attempt to bribe us to be his friends or something?” - “I doubt he would.” Ruby wasn't completely wrong because as much as he wanted to treat them, he was barely able to afford an empty paper cup with his current finances. He tried to skip discussing this topic any further, “Hey, Ruby, earlier in class, how did you know about, what was it, §562 anyway?” - “It was a total coincidence that I read about that specific topic before, to be frank. But if you want I can borrow you some books about how to, basically go against agreements legally.” They exchanged phone numbers and notes and chattered away about laws while Jongup, the obligatory Psychology Major every group of friends should have, tried to analyse their “conversational behaviour patterns”. Youngjae doubted he even knew what that meant.   
Ruby turned out to have a witty sense of humour and be very passionate about Malcolm X, Pisanello and Janis Joplin all while downing three caramel lattes. Her and Jongup were great company to keep and their conversation covered all grounds from east Asian politics to quoting memes and Youngjae enjoyed taking part in this a great deal. And this was essentially what his first three weeks at university looked like, along with occasional study conferences from seven to nine whenever they felt like spending money on soggy sandwiches and fancy coffee. The only other event worth to be mentioned being a visit from Himchan, who lived up to all the praise of his boyfriend. He had vibrant red hair and was so flamboyantly gay it almost hurt, to look at him and watching Himchan and Jongup together hurt even more because they seemed too perfect for mere peasants like him. In an act of courageousness and rebellion,Youngjae convinced Himchan to meet up for a jam session sometime and he enthusiastically agreed which made him feel a little less pathetic next to them. At some point he had to flea to Ruby's dorm though because they started making out without even giving him a warning.

“What're you doing there?” Jongup kicked against Youngjae's chair, making his pen skip and spill. “Trying to figure out how to artificially replace the nervous system of primates, so I'd be careful I were you.” His room mate peaked over his shoulder into his book, “Yeah, what the actual fuck. Still, secondary, I just wanted to tell you the Hip Hop Dance class will go on a trip so me and Ruby won't be around for like two weeks. Get ready to be miserable without us.” - “I will be, I promise.” Jongup smiled, satisfied, “I appreciate that, thank you.” - “Before you leave me on my own, can you give me Himchan's number? In case, you know, we get lonely...” he winked, unsuccessfully. “Yoo Youngjae, I will literally beat you to death with an oboe.” - “Must I remind you that you neither own an oboe nor the height necessary to beat me with anything?” Jongup scoffed; “You can ask him for his number yourself for I shan't talk to you after you dishonoured me.” 

Both, Jongup and Ruby dramatically clung to the window while waving at him as their bus left for the road.   
Youngjae was alone for the first time in three weeks and all of the sudden he felt helpless and lost on the campus that seemed to get bigger and more maze-like with every second. He decided to text Himchan right away, too anxious to move anywhere on his own, feeling uncomfortably exposed to the potential eyes of the millions of students. He proceeded to take a few, cautious steps to a near corner, the walls surrounding him remedying the sudden flash of pure panic. After twenty minutes of sitting hunched over he thought about what the best way to die without moving was. But before he could come up with anything, he spotted the Creepers approaching him. Himchan coached down to hug Youngjae, who flinched at the movement at first but soon his relaxed under the soft touch, his lungs filling with a flowery scent mixed with the smell of gasoline which made him strangely calm.   
“Thanks.”, he whispered and Himchan slowly let go. “It's fine, I was around anyway. You okay?” - “Sure will be as soon as we're down at the arts wing. You know where that is?” - “Yeah, Uppie always drags me with him to look at art or listen to poetry slams or meet talented people. Or he forces me to play for him. Or I just watch him draw for like three hours.” Himchan tried his best to sound annoyed but all he managed was a slight eyeroll that didn't cover up his obvious dedication to love and support Jongup, no matter what he wanted. Now Youngjae was rolling his eyes “Jeez, okay, I'll stop being the best boyfriend to ever walk this earth then.” - “Much obliged.” Youngjae bowed his head to hide the relief.

They made their way to the arts building talking quietly about what they could play. They decided on Brahms Violin Sonata No. 3 because Youngjae loved Brahms and Himchan almost knew the piece by heart. 

Himchan looked very peaceful while playing the violin, even during such a rapid song. Compared to him, Youngjae looked rather obsessed. He moved almost spastically, rocking back and forth with every accento. Himchan was impressed by the young man in front of him and somehow relieved to see someone so passionate. Usually everyone in the orchestra just looked like they wanted to be somewhere else, apathetic to what they were doing. But Youngjae became one with the melody, with the keys he was hitting, the air became tense around him, he made people stop dead in their tracks and it made a perfectly cliché atmosphere. Youngjae actually wiped sweat of his forehead when they were done. “I don't understand how you can play the violin like that without the dark forces being involved.” Himchan snorted and patted Youngjae's hair, “Well, you're much better at playing piano than me to be fair. How about some Bach now?” Youngjae smirked confidentially, “Or we try playing some Clash. At least I can sing along to that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D-Day. Youngjea meets a dude at a diner and has a minor breakdown. It's fine tho.

Chapter 4

The little bell rang as he pushed the door to the Diner open and the middle aged woman behind the counter looked up from her magazine. The coffee here wasn't as good as the one of the campus' shop but it was more affordable and you were mostly on your own, especially at nine in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Himchan who probably wasn't used to rancid places like this one, trailed behind him, examining the place closely. He then proceeded to sit down right by the window, blinking at Youngjae expectantly who blinked back. Himchan gestured to the counter since there wasn't a waiter in sight. Youngjae nodded, feeling very tired all of the sudden. 

“Yes, hi, can I get a pot of coffee, two slices of apple pie, like, half a can of whipped cream on one of them and a glass of bourbon?”   
She looked a little thrown off. Then slowly wrote something down , somehow not breaking eye contact with him. “What's your name, hon?” - “Youngjae.” he thought about the question. “Wait, why are you asking?” - “Oh, just curious.” She had a very strong southern accent, heavy pink blush all over her cheeks and was chewing a piece of gum obnoxiously loud. “Say, is 'Young Jay' sum kinda street name? Ain't in no gang, are ya?” Before he could correct her, someone chimed in from out of the door frame to the kitchen; “Jesus, Margaret, he's Asian. It's Youngjae.” She laughed at that and shook her head, “Oh hon, I'm sorry, I'm not good with 'em foreign names.”   
Usually, Youngjae would be offended but her apology sounded sincere so he just smiled dismissively, “Happens to the best of us.”   
When he was finally turning to join Himchan again, the door frame-person raised his head to look at Youngjae and time stopped for a moment. The small sounds of cutlery against plates, cups being put down, newspaper pages being turned, faint music from a club next door, it all grew distant and eventually faded into irrelevance. Memories that weren't his of kingdoms rising and falling, stars imploding and exploding, the view from atop an ancient mountain, the smell of wet moss and wood in a forest older and wiser than any king could ever be, billions of lives he hadn't lived played out in front of him. Then air filled his lungs again. He was still standing in the Diner, the cause of his spontaneous LSD trip still staring at him. 

“Am I gonna get my pie or do I have to bake it myself?” Himchan, who, to be fair, had complained about him starving twenty minutes ago, yelled at Youngjae. He swallowed heavily, trying not to choke while doing so.   
“Here you go.” door frame-person said and passed him two plates he had been balancing on his arm while filling a pot with freshly brewed coffee. “Don't take Margy to serious, she doesn't mean any harm. In fact, she mispronounced my name too on my very first day here and she is scared to call me by it ever since and we've been working together for almost two years.” Youngjae nodded and tried to smile but the one corner of his mouth didn't want to cooperate so he just looked like he was having a stoke.  
He touched Youngjae's free hand with delicate fingertips, his light smile turning into creased brows and concern; “Are you alright?” Youngjae didn't know how to answer that. He didn't know his name either. Nor where he was. “Huh? I- I don't know- I think so, yes?” - “No offense but I'm questioning your decision to order alcohol.” his eyes lingered on Youngjae's hands which were still shaking. “Margy, do me a favour and get that order to table twelve? I think the red haired young man is getting impatient.”   
I'm-not-good-with-foreign-names took the plates from Youngjae and hauled up two cups, a coffee pot and a glass about to spill on her short arms. “And you're coming with me.”   
Youngjae was carefully shoved in the direction of the staff room where he was set down on a chair that looked like it was already out of style in the 80's. A wet cloth was placed on his forehead.   
“Here, have some water. Can you breath alright? I can totally call an ambulance if you need to go to the hospital. Do you have diabetes? Because a friend of mine has diabetes and this sometimes happens to him. I also have a car, do we have to go to the hospital?” 

Youngjae was a little overwhelmed. He wasn't aware one could produce as many words as this guy just did in such little time.   
“I'm just a little dizzy, it's fine”, “I promise.”, he added reassuringly.   
“I'm sorry, you just looked like you were about to faint or vomit or do both in that order.”   
Youngjae couldn't help but smile at the man before him.   
“It's cool, I just didn't eat yet. Maybe I got low blood sugar or something. But thanks.” - “It's no problem. I'm glad you're okay. I'm Daehyun, by the way? I haven't even told you that yet, have I?” - “I'm Youngjae but you know that already.” They smiled at each other stupidly. But even if he would've tried, Youngjae couldn't have found the right words to speak to Daehyun because Daehyun was doubtlessly the most beautiful person he had ever seen and as soon as their eyes met, Youngjae could feel the suffocating feeling from two minutes ago ripping trough him. He took a gulp of water to prevent actually having to vomit or faint.   
“Himchan is probably wondering where I am. I should get back.” he said but what he meant was 'I'd rather just stay seated and revel in your divine presence' but he figured it would a very bizarre thing to say to a complete stranger.   
“You sure? I could also just bring you some food here but no, you're right that'd be weird also your friend must be worried so I'll just get you back to him, sorry, I tend to overreact.” Daehyun said to either himself or Youngjae, neither of them was sure. 

Himchan looked up from his coffee, “Thank god you're here, I don't know how I would have explained to Jongup that I lost you the first time me met without him.” Youngjae felt a little offended by the sarcastic undertone. “I'm fine, thanks for asking, Daehyun here just thought I was about to die, thus my disappearance.” Daehyun looked flustered but smiled at Himchan. Himchan somehow got the memo, “I'll take him from there but hey, if you want you can join us after your shift to make sure I do my job.” The response was eager nodding, “I'll be off in half an hour anyway!”  
Youngjae looked slightly puzzled and waited for Daehyun to make his way back to the counter. “Did you just flirt with him for me?” Himchan just smirked cockily which made Youngjae want to kick him but he had to admit that he couldn't have been nearly as smooth as Himchan so all he could say was a designated Thanks. The next few minutes they spent eating in comfortable silence until Daehyun joined them, throwing his apron all the way in the back of a store room. And just then, when he squeezed himself between them, Youngjae noticed just how beautiful he really was. Much like Jongup, he had a little birth mark on his face, right under his eye. His hair was dyed blonde and fell in slight curls. His skin was caramel and his lips were plush and rosy and looked very inviting. His eyes seemed like the ocean in a starless night, like you might drown in them and there were deep bags under them. A lot of tiny scars all over his face, cuts on his hands and his nails which were chewed off all made him somehow even more perfect to Youngjae. He also had a very nice smile, showing the crinkles around his eyes, his cheeks making him look a little bit like a doll.   
He also had this habit of bowing his head a little to fix his fringe which was adorable to watch as his hair wouldn't let itself be bound.   
Himchan kicked his foot under the table. 'You're staring.' Youngjae forced his eyes off of Daehyun and blinked, irritated, out of focus. “So anyway, I'd love to major in music when I have the money. Until then I'm just trying to get trough, to be honest. I have this little apartment, if you may call it that, it's very tiny actually, it's about fifty minutes from here, French Quarter.” - “Do you speak French?” Youngjae asked without realizing how naïve he sounded. “You could say so, I can buy groceries and stuff like that. This old lady that lives next door taught it to me. Counter question; Do you speak Korean?” - “I do, yes. Himchan on the contrary can only ask his grandparents for pocket money.” The Referred To kicked him again, then nodded, “It's all I ever needed it for, my parents moved here years before I was born.”   
Youngjae thought about what Jongup said about Asians flocking together and smiled to himself.  
Suddenly Daehyun's face lit up and he pointed at the case by Himchan, “You play the violin?” - “Yep. And this guy here plays the piano.”, he beamed, not missing out on a opportunity to brag he quickly added, “But he doesn't play in the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra.”  
His eyes grew very big and very bright at that, “No way!”, Daehyun turned to Youngjae expectantly, “He's kidding, right?” - “He would never.”   
This turned to be the wrong answer, because the five or so following minutes were Daehyun gushing about the Orchestra and Youngjae wanting to punch Himchan.  
“I sing, you know, or at least I try. Maybe we could do something together sometime!”   
Youngjae was about to cry before he noticed this wasn't addressed to Himchan but to him. He looked up and it seemed like the sun just rose right in front of his face.  
Daehyun's grin was so genuine and so bright and radiating and on second thought, the stupid space orb really had nothing on him.   
“I- what? You mean I should play for you?” - “Yes, totally!”   
He quietly decided that there was no way he could say no to that, not the sparkling eyes or the tousled hair and especially not to the anticipation in Daehyun's voice.   
“Yeah, okay, sure. I'd love to. Should I come pick you up after your shift on Friday? I only have a lecture in the morning.” Daehyun nodded, “That'd be perfect!” , and for some reason it filled Youngjae with so much warmth.   
They kept chatting on in the homey comfort of the diner for what felt like hours before Daehyun calmly stated how he would miss the last bus in his direction and sprinted out of the door and down the road after yelling a good bye to them. Himchan then got up and said 'It's getting late, I better get going too' like some old man after a long Bingo match.   
Youngjae decided it would be strangely uncomfortable to sit alone so he also made his way home, shuffling trough the thin layer of what might've been snow on the campus ground, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of a gigantic beige coat.  
When he opened the door to his dorm, the cold and the unfamiliarity of it without Jongup hit him and he shivered, hesitating to take his coat off. He thought about what happened today while trying change into his pyjamas under four blankets.   
Letting the day pass behind flickering lids, he realized that, although playing with Himchan must've been the most amazing thing in ages, Daehyun's sheer presence somehow overshadowed it.  
His smile and how he smelled like pancakes and coffee and a little bit like grease from the kitchen. He thought about the way he lit up when he talked about music and how his eyes seemed to pierce trough every layer of Youngjae when he looked at him.   
He put on music to fill the emptiness that Himchan's soft laugh and Daehyun's chattering had left too suddenly and tried to fall asleep which he eventually did after tossing and turning for hours, but his dreams were haunted by his childhood home. Strange, sinister faces passing him by, he felt lost, the fear of being watched, of something very sad following him, weighing him down, making it hard to breath.  
He woke up in cold sweat, ten minutes after his first class started.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Youngjea is sad but he'll be fine. Also Himchan is a good friend.

Chapter 5

He shifted in his chair, the lecture slowly fading into insignificance. The dream still stuck in every inch of his body and he couldn't find any comfort in the crowded room or the distant voice of his professor.   
He should probably just leave. This wasn't relevant for his exam anyway.   
Youngjae's eyes were darting restlessly from one window to another, to the door, the people surrounding him and he was starting to feel dizzy.   
He couldn't just stand up and go to the door, everyone would stare at him, the professor would start asking questions. Unwanted attention. 

the Piano Man [7:45]: hey himchan i feel weird pls help

the Piano Man [7:46]: txt back bitch

Channie [7:50]: yes ok i'm here whats wrong??

the Piano Man [7:51]: idk can u pls come pick me up in ten mins   
the Piano Man [7:51]: lecture hall 9 old building

Channie [7:51]: omw   
Channie [7:52]: pls dont die ok uppie will kill me and also ily 

The phone almost slipped trough his clammy hands when he tried to discretely slip it back into his pocket. His eyes never left the clock until what felt like at least ten hours finally passed and he waited for everyone to leave the room to make his move on wobbly legs and practically sprinted trough the door.   
A pair of soft hands met his own and Himchan looked at him worriedly, “What's wrong, you're shaking.” - “I'm fine, I-, I just didn't really, I don't know, I had a weird dream again and it won't go away.”   
They stared at each other for a bit and Himchan smiled gently.   
“Let's get you some food and space.”  
“Thanks, I love you.” he whispered without meeting the other man's eyes.   
“Chill, I have a boyfriend.” And Youngjae had to genuinely smile at that.  
He didn't realize where they were going until they stood in front of the neon sign spelling 'Diner' in cursive letters, glowing sallow trough the bright morning.   
“I thought this would be the least busy.”   
The place was deserted apart from a trucker sleeping face down on the counter, next to his eggs and beans. A tired looking woman that didn't seem a day over fourteen came up to them and asked for their order while yawning at least three times. The hot cup she shoved into his hands calmed Youngjae down and he noticed how Himchan's shirt was on the wrong side, his hair uncombed and how he had on sweatpants which was against every single one of his fashion rules.   
“Did I wake you up?” It was probably too late for that question but he felt bad about himself.   
“Yes, kinda. But no worries, I snoozed my alarm ten times before I saw your text. Why?”  
Youngjae snorted stupidly and pointed at his shirt and the at his hair.   
“Fuck, why didn't you tell me earlier.” Himchan looked almost flustered which made the whole situation somehow more amusing to Youngjae. “Stop laughing! God, I'll never answer any of your texts ever again.” - “Please don't! You're the closest thing I've ever had to a mom.” Youngjae smiled, but his eyes had a certain sadness to them, “Thank you, Himchan, seriously. You've been helping  
me without hesitating even though we barely know each other. You haven't asked for anything in return. I don't deserve you at all.” - “Don't go all sappy on me, okay, this is really the least I can do.”, he grinned presumptuous, “Guess I'm just a good person.” Youngjae wished he could argue with that, “You really are but please don't tell Uppie I've been hogging his boyfriend like this.”

The food they shared was strangely dry but other than that more than enough. Youngjae's eyes kept drifting off to the kitchen between every bite even though he was sure Daehyun wasn't working yet. He couldn't help thinking of him in his obnoxiously red apron nonetheless.  
“You looking for your pretty boy?” Himchan mumbled between two giant pieces of waffle he shoved into his mouth. “He has a name, you know. And no, I'm not.” Himchan just smirked mischievously and Youngjae felt terribly attacked by it.  
After their second plate Youngjae felt like vomiting since he usually didn't have time for breakfast and pushed his leftovers away from him with sudden disgust. He then thought about his unfinished assignments and the feeling got even worse.   
“Ah, Youngjae, I'm sorry but I really need to leave. I have to practice and after that my part time job starts and if I'm not on time they will execute me.” Himchan sighed and threw his phone on the table as if that'd stop time.   
Youngjae stopped poking the puddle of maple syrup on his plate and looked up with what he hoped to be puppy eyes. “What is this, are you having a stroke?” - “Yeah, fuck you too. Can't you stay a little longer?” He tried pouting now. Himchan rolled his eyes all the way back. Youngjae stopped pouting. He was an adult for fucks sake.

Youngjae yield to his fate and mentally prepared himself for the thirty minute walk to the library. Two minutes in tough, he noticed the most rancid looking Pickup truck he'd ever encountered, stopping abruptly a few metres in front of him.   
Calling it 'white' would've been a lie, doors painted brown, presumably to camouflage the rust. Youngjae was almost scared to pass it because of the potential drug addict inside. He tried to carefully outflank the vehicle but it honked at him and he actually, literally screamed out loud when someone emerged from the window.   
“Oh my god, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, are you okay?” Youngjae recognized the voice imminently. “Daehyun? Is- Wait, is that your car?” Daehyun beamed brightly, looking very proud of himself, “Yep, pretty cool, huh?” Youngjae couldn't help but smile. “Yeah, it's really nice.”, he nodded.  
“Where you headed anyway?” - “Library. I really need to study and read up on something and finish two essays and also please run me over now.” - “How about I give you a lift instead?” And before Youngjae could answer, Daehyun was already spread over both front seats, dangerously close to the hand break and threw the passenger's door open, nearly breaking Youngjae's nose.   
“Just push everything on the floor.” Instead, Youngjae picked up the tapes, wrappers and and semi empty bottles before he dared to sit on the worn out leather. “Or do that.”, Daehyun shrugged and threw it in the glove compartment.   
“Thanks, walking really sucked.” - “You walked like five metres. At best.” - “Shut up.” Daehyun laughed and stepped on the gas. Despite it's bad looks, the truck drove smoothly and Youngjae felt a little reassured in his decision.


End file.
